In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

I choked and my whole body shook.

“Cough! Cough!”

“You okay?”

“Y- cough!”

While Mom reached for a napkin, Ri-hyeok and I kept coughing helplessly.

“Hyung, drink something—please!”

“That’s soda with alcohol in it. Jiho, Uju hyung can’t—no, Uju hyung, that’ll hurt if you drink it.”

“Where will it hurt?”

Through the commotion, a fresh new kind of chaos filtered into my ears.

“Why is giving someone a glass of water such a... hic!”

“Hic!”

When our coughing fit finally ended, what remained was a duet of hiccups between Ri-hyeok and me—one hiccup, then the other in a looping round.

“Don’t echo me—hic!”

“Hic!”

Chef eyeing us awkwardly as he brought the next course, we pressed our trembling lips together in mortification.

Junghyun tapped his phone.

“I need to make a beat out of this.”

“....”

“No, I don’t.”

When the two of us glared daggers, he snapped his phone shut and refocused on the food. Viju asked if we were okay, and we waved him off. Mom and Ye-in, watching two goofballs hiccuping in unison, burst out laughing.

“Sorry.”

I chuckled sheepishly.

“I tend to choke easily. I guess I got so shocked hearing Mom liked my first impression, I—”

“Oh? Was that surprising?”

“When we first met, I thought you didn’t like me.”

I glanced at Ri-hyeok, who averted his eyes awkwardly. At that first meeting—when I was stretching in the practice room—he’d told me straight to give up if I planned to, glaring as if in a drama, “I can’t accept you as my daughter-in-law!” Naturally, I assumed he’d hated me from the start.

“I’m surprised you liked my first impression.”

Mom dabbed her mouth with her napkin.

“I wrote that you were so handsome. I hoped you wouldn’t give up—”

“Mom!”

Ri-hyeok groaned, and Mom smiled, trailing off. It seemed she really liked using the word “Mom” for the first time since seeing us today.

“This is so embarrassing,” Ri-hyeok said.

“Understood.”

“And everyone who raised their hand—put it down. No asking Mom what I write in those emails.”

Someone shot lasers from their eyes, “Privacy!” and we stifled laughs and lowered our hands.

I laughed and said,

“Too bad. I wanted to hear more about those first impressions.”

“You wrote them down too?”

“Of course.”

Mom, eyes mischievous, watched her son with a tender look and smiled.

“They were all good things, so I’ve always wanted to meet you and hear them myself.”

She looked around at each of us.

“Viju, Junghyun—I’ve heard so many good things about you two. And...”

Her gaze lingered on our maknae, who joined in the mischief with his grin.

“...I’ve heard lots of good things about you too.”

“Huh? Me?”

“It was lovely to finally meet all of you.”

She abruptly switched topics, and we laughed. Our maknae frowned, then Ri-hyeok, avoiding eye contact, got a firm tap on his foot—ouch.

“Jiho, it’s me...”

“Oops.”

“Use your left foot.”

He winced as I whispered in his ear. In that cheerful atmosphere, we finished dinner—dessert included—and Mom asked,

“Are you going straight back to the hotel after this?”

“Yes, it’s late and dark.”

“It feels quite late. Why not stay here?”

We glanced at one another—intriguing—but too polite to jump at it, we just smiled. Ri-hyeok ventured,

“I worry it’d be an imposition.”

“No need to worry, dear. I’ve prepared the guest rooms already.”

“...Well, then staying over doesn’t seem bad.”

It felt as though the decision to stay was sealed. We felt sorry that Mingi hyung had to come back to pick us up later, so we were even happier to stay.

As we finished our meal, Mom said to Ye-in,

“Ye-in, would you show them my room first?”

“Okay.”

“A room tour...?”

“Cleaning supplies closet.”

Ri-hyeok froze, but Ye-in shook her head.

“It’s where all the cleaning tools are.”

“Show us now.”

We laughed at how in sync the siblings were, then turned our attention back to Mom. Seeing her let us go first, I suspected she had something more to say.

“Thank you all so much.”

A gentle smile graced her lips.

“You write such long letters about each of my boys. And my oldest isn’t exactly talkative.”

We all smiled quietly.

“The reason you cut the noodles... for longevity. So it isn’t proper... no, I’m not upset because you cut my naengmyeon, but its origins teach...”

—really, you wrote all that?

“—He hardly ever shows mood swings.”

We laughed again.

“Who left dust on my bed? Who will confess? Was it Viju hyung by accident? Then it’s okay.”

Mood swings like a rollercoaster...

Every time she praised one of us, her words missed the mark in a surprisingly perfect way.

“Whenever my eldest criticizes or compliments someone, he’s not typically that way. But I hear only good things about all of you.”

Embarrassed, we laughed, and she said,

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.”

I replied,

“We owe Ri-hyeok a lot too. He sings so well—”

“And cleans so well.”

“And reads so many books. Plus...”

We exchanged looks.

“Ri-hyeok sings beautifully.”

“He really does.”

“He’s an incredible singer.”

Scrambling to find compliments, we made Mom laugh as if she’d seen it all before.

“Ri-hyeok seems to have found wonderful friends.”

“We feel lucky to have Ri-hyeok.”

My siblings nodded. As NewBlack’s main vocalist, we rely on him for everything—from vocal directing to the highlight of our performances. Even “Thousand Dreams,” the Nostalgia OST, is tough to perform without him. Though sometimes I wish he weren’t so vital, he’s indispensable.

“I see.”

Mom smiled.

“By the way, any new interests of his lately?”

“He’s really into Goguryeo history now.”

“Goguryeo history?”

“And he loves dried sweet potatoes.”

“Dried sweet potatoes.”

Viju laughed, feeling something had gone awry—but Mom understood perfectly. Bit by bit, she learned about her son’s hobbies and interests.

“When I call him, he seems burdened.”

“Oh...”

“And yet I wonder how he’s living.”

We laughed awkwardly. It was ironic we both hesitated to reach out, thinking we’d burden the other. Viju ventured,

“But I think Ri-hyeok misses you too.”

“Does he?”

“Yes. Truly.”

Since meeting us, Mom’s brightest smiles belonged to him.

While Viju marveled, “I brought them together,” Mom stood and said,

“I planned to share a glass of wine.”

“I might never get up if I did,” I laughed.

“Oh, Ri-hyeok told me you’re called an alcoholgosa.”

“Yes. That’s me.”

My sad nod made my siblings giggle. Mom led us upstairs; her light steps and mild blush mirrored her son’s. ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) Her ears might be from his father, but her face was clearly hers.

As I thought, “Blush + blush = Ri-hyeok,” she said,

“When I chose this house, I knew all five of you would come.”

“Really?”

“When he was little, his dream was to have friends sleep over.”

Though it took very long to fulfill, Mom looked pleased it happened. I realized how fluent her Korean was, despite years in America—it must be thanks to Ri-hyeok. I asked,

“That was his wish?”

“He always wanted friends to stay over, but he struggled to make friends.”

She spoke so objectively that we burst out laughing, then climbed the stairs.

In the dark room, we stared at glow-in-the-dark stickers on the ceiling.

“...”

Stars connected into English sentences. I read them softly, one per star.

“I will be a genius scientist.”

“Ha ha ha!”

My siblings burst out laughing while Ri-hyeok grumbled,

“Be quiet.”

“You wanted to be a genius scientist, didn’t you, Ri-hyeok?”

In the cozy glow of a lamp, the vast room’s bookshelves brimmed with children’s science-experiment books. Ri-hyeok touched his eye.

“I never thought Mom would bring all the things from my old room here.”

“It’s nice seeing your childhood here.”

Though nearly ten years old, the room’s items belonged to young Ri-hyeok.

“It feels so strange.”

“Right?”

“I never imagined I’d live with these people ten years ago.”

“If you’d known, you wouldn’t have come to Korea?”

He shook his head.

“Why would that be? I would have come sooner.”

He shrugged. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. We burrowed under the covers awkwardly. Ri-hyeok, gazing at the ceiling, said,

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

He sighed.

“Why... are we all lying in one bed like this?”

“Wish fulfillment?”

“But there’s no room—why lie in a line?”

We lay side by side like skewered ddukbokki, and he looked pathetic in the middle.

“What kind of wish is that?”

“I have one.”

“How about we just go to sleep? Everyone’s exhausted.”

“I’d like to.”

Jiho answered sadly,

“But we can’t leave.”

“Why not?”

“There’s a reason.”

He gave me a yearning look, and I nodded and softly sang a ballad:

“I can’t go to my room—can’t go even once~”

“No, go! Just go!”

As someone shook the blankets violently, we burrowed deeper under them.

The next morning,

“Thank you for letting us stay.”

“You’re welcome—visit anytime.”

We said our goodbyes to Mom.

“We’ll come again.”

Ri-hyeok gave her the world’s most awkward hug, then dashed back to us. We piled into the car bound for the airport.

“Now—work! Work!”

“Work, work, work!”

Sadly, our trip wasn’t over. After adjusting to the time difference in the U.S., we had Central America—Mexico—and South America—Brazil—on the schedule.

“Sob sob!”

At each airport, Suflé fans waited to greet us, full of passion.

“Zhen-min! Here! I exist!”

“My existence!”

“Congrats on Daesang!”

We were so happy to see fans speaking Korean in distant lands. One teenager wept and begged us to sign “Mariella López” next to a Zolaman cartoon on our spaceship drawing—we still remember her. We laughed at a “NewBlack saramehae” typo on a placard.

“Wait—typo or not?”

“Maybe it’s meant to be. A wise lesson: be a person before an idol?”

“Don’t do the dramatic reveal voice, Junghyun.”

“Dun dun!”

His perfect sound-effect impersonation cracked us up. We did quick TV interviews too.

“What’s the secret to your popularity?”

“Are we popular?”

We dodged the trap with smiles.

“I don’t know, but fans usually love our stage.”

“And the lyrics seem to matter.”

Before touring South America, Seok-hwan hyung told us K-pop’s draw was:

“Simple lyrics.”

“Huh?”

“They said ‘Nine’ is so innocent, they like that.”

I thought “Nine”’s rough choreography and lyrics, remixed in a Teenspirit style, would be edgy—but to Latin-American Suflé, we were “cute.” No alcohol, no drugs, no adult content—they saw our wildness as kindergarten-snack-party level.

Jiho shook his head.

“We are not cute.”

“Huh?”

“Yes!”

“And please, I’ll only use that polite ‘-yo’ until graduation.”

I teased him, and he looked oddly sad.

“I meant you seem mature.”

“Wow!”

After interviews about Nostalgia OSTs and K-pop in Latin America, before each concert we took deep breaths backstage.

“Phew!”

Even as the crowd’s roar pulsed through the venue, we steeled ourselves. Because in foreign tours, audience culture differs in one key respect: they might fling things onstage when excited.

“When the excitement peaks, sometimes... you know... things fly.”

At Nine’s high-energy segments—hands chopping the air—fans hurled shining objects along the lights onto the stage. Every time, my Confucian instincts snapped on.

“Squee!”

Ri-hyeok’s eyes screamed, and we swallowed hard mid-choreography.

“Flying underwear!”

“Dodge!”

“That’s men’s—pretty big!”

We dodged missile-like waves of underwear arcing toward us. Fortunately, no one was ever hit—by tour’s end, we’d avoided most flying garments.

After successfully completing our South American concerts, we finally returned to Korea.

“...”

One of us stared out the window like we’d lost everything. I placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Just wash it off.”

“...”

“We already washed so much!” Viju reminded me.

“...”

The managers chuckled, then Ri-hyeok glared, and they averted their eyes. Wonsuk hyung, driving, said,

“You all did great.”

“Managers, you did too.”

“Really. Aren’t you heading straight to the company instead of the dorm?”

“Yes. I slept well on the plane, and I’m eager to meet the A&R and production teams.”

“You must be tired. Why not wait till tomorrow?”

I laughed.

“When we announce we’re coming, only junior staff ever stick around.”

“True.”

If we prewarn, team leads vanish and only assistants remain.

“You going to your meetings too, hyung?”

“Yes, I have a brief meeting with TBC’s PD—supporting our director.”

“Don’t drink too much.”

“That’s not my call...”

I shot a grateful look at our managers and said,

“You said the schedule was tight. Drop us off up ahead—we’ll walk from the alley.”

“Sure.”

Leaving our luggage, we trudged from the car through the crosswalk. I inhaled deeply—Seoul’s air felt like a long-edged blade filling my lungs.

We headed down the alley toward our office in Sinsa-dong, but halted when someone said,

“Hey, it’s NewBlack.”

“NewBlack...”

“Definitely NewBlack, right?”

Junghyun whispered,

“Maybe it’s my imagination, but didn’t the people who just crossed the street seem to follow us?”

“Yeah.”

“They weren’t sasaengs, but watch out.”

We felt those unfamiliar onlookers’ gazes trailing us. Then:

“What the...?”

We all blinked.

“Why are there so many people?”

Over a hundred lined the alley all the way to Lemon Entertainment’s headquarters. When we froze, the crowd nearest the back gasped—a ripple of exclamations and shrieks spread instantly.

And our first reaction to their response was:

“Where are you going?!”

“Wait, hold on!”

We backpedaled from these unknown strangers.

In front of Lemon Entertainment.

Audition hopefuls for the new trainee intake gaped.

“NewBlack!”

The very reason they came to Lemon stood before them. While they watched in awe, NewBlack—eyes wide—jumped back like cockroach commandos. The trainees stared in confusion.

“What is this?”

In their imagination, NewBlack had seemed so glamorous. But facing us in person, they looked more like bewildered sunfish.